


Even the Smallest: Prequels, Sequels, and Deleted Scenes

by Webhoard



Series: Even the Smallest [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Deleted Scenes, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prequel, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-05-02 08:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webhoard/pseuds/Webhoard
Summary: Ficlets featuring the Reader and Steve from Even the Smallest.Some of these fics can be read as standalones, others not so much. I will indicate where they fit and in what context in the notes at the beginning of each ficlet.One ficlet will haveexplicit mature content, and will be marked as such. I'm not rating the whole fic as explicit because most the rest are not and I want everyone to be able to read. So, honor system yall, if you're under 18, please do not read that chapter.For a full list of prompts and synopses of future ficlets or to read them all in order, refer to mymasterlist on Tumblr.





	1. In Which Steve Dreams a Little Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [From this prompt](https://eufeme.tumblr.com/post/173197825901/for-an-even-the-smallest-request-could-you-do-a). Steve has a dream, and it’s a very, very good dream at that. But dreams never come true...or so they say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This can be read as a standalone** for people who haven’t read the series, but this is set right at the beginning of the story. Brief mention of the events of Ant Man 1 (just don’t want people confused if they haven’t seen it).
> 
> Whoo boy! I am so psyched to get started on these ficlets finally. I’ve also updated my EtS masterlist to kinda-sorta map out where each ficlet will fit, but the sequels will probably get shuffled a bit. I’m not going to write these in any particular order, just gonna follow my inspiration where it leads me.

Steve was sitting in his office, pencil tapping lightly on the edge of his desktop, willing against all hope for his eyes to focus on the words swirling and blurring on the page before him. He must have read the same sentence at least three times without actually comprehending any meaning from it, his mind’s voice sounding out syllables over and over again in a wordless murmur. For all that the serum did to enhance his strength and resiliency, he was overcome with a fatigue that left his mind dull and sluggish.

He’d had another a nearly sleepless night. No sooner had his head hit the pillow the night before than he was being thrown awake, chest burning with a lack of breath he hadn’t felt since he was younger and in the throes of yet another one of his asthma attacks, the sound of Bucky’s hopeless, helpless scream still reverberating in his ears as if he had been transported back in time to that god forsaken train in the dead of winter yet again. He had all but propelled himself out of his tangled sheets as wave after wave of nausea coursed through him unrelentingly. 

He had known that he would never get back to sleep without going to Bucky’s quarters to confirm that he was safe, that he was alive, that maybe someday Steve could actually find absolution for his greatest failing, for letting his best friend, his brother,  _his Bucky_ , fall. But Steve also had known that it was not fair to pull Bucky from his meager sleep for the sake of his own. And so he had stayed in his quarters, eyes stinging and red as he sat on the window ledge of his living room, looking out over the city until the night sky turned from the ashy, light-polluted gray to the pale violet and yellow of morning.

“I was just dropping by to see how that paperwork was coming,” your voice pulled Steve suddenly from his reverie, “But maybe that can wait.” 

You were standing in the doorway to his office, your typically sarcastic face barely concealing genuine concern. Clearly, the painful ruminations of his nightmare had been visible on his face.

“Sorry, I, uh,” he looked down as the still unwritten report, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

You let out a soft laugh, as you walked into his office, leaning your hip against the desk and peering down at the blank lines, “Clearly. I’ve never seen you skimp on paperwork like this, thought it was your favorite.”

Steve smiled in return, looking up into your bright eyes, which were locked on his, concern still peeking through your otherwise calm demeanor. 

“You sure it’s just insomnia? You know you can talk to me, right?” You were biting at your lower lip as you continued to gaze down at him.

His mind seemed to fog over. It was like he had forgotten how to speak, how to transcribe his emotions and thoughts into verbal syllables. There was a new look coming into your eyes and expression that he had never seen before, and it had rendered him speechless. 

And when you got up from your seat on the edge of his desk and circled around to his side, your tongue gently licking your lower lip before your teeth began to worry at it again, everything that wasn’t you went fuzzy. 

The sounds of the office floor outside his door muted to a low hum. The astringent smell of copier toner and hot paper faded as the smell of your light perfume cocooned him in a heady warmth. His peripheral vision blurred, contrasting sharply with the crisp image of your fingers reaching out to caress gently across his forehead and into his hair, sending a shiver of want and need down his spine.

“You can tell me anything, ask me anything, Steve,” you said softly, crouching more to his level, fingers still gently combing the bangs off his forehead in soft strokes.

All of this felt so surreal, yet so right that he didn’t dare to question it. And after all, why should he? He had spent close to two years yearning for you, craving your touch, and now here you were, running your fingers through his hair, his same desire and longing mirrored in your eyes, your posture, your every touch.

“Kiss me.” He almost didn’t recognize his voice, low and plaintive, the words sounding liminal, too timid to be a command but too rough with need to be a request.

Steve could see your chest rise rapidly with each heavy breath, your gaze darting between his eyes and his lips as you leant your face up to meet his, fingers tugging on his hair to draw him closer. And when you finally pressed your lips to his, he all but crumpled to his knees, pushing back his chair haphazardly to kneel on the floor next to you.

Your lips tasted of peppermint lip balm and coffee, and as they slotted with his, fitting perfectly, Steve felt dizzy with pleasure, arousal, want, and disbelief. It felt so real, so perfect, but how could this be real? How this actually be happening?

As he ran his fingers across the top of your shoulder to the nape of your neck, he marveled at how soft your skin felt beneath his calloused fingers, how you leaned into his touch with a shiver. And when your other hand gripped at his hips, pulling him by the belt until his body was flush with yours, he couldn’t stop the moan that rumbled up his throat.

All thoughts of the bustling office beyond his open door were forgotten as your hand released its hold on his belt to begin pulling his shirt up his torso as your lips began moving down his chin to his throat. He responded in kind, letting his hands explore the curves of your body, rucking up your skirt when he reached the lower hem to grant him better access to your legs.

And when his hands began massaging further up the backs of your thighs, he never knew that one syllable could sound so seductive, so enticing as you breathed out his name in desire and anticipation, “Steve…”

And when his hands finally reached the curve of your ass, his name began falling from your mouth again and again. “Steve,” sounding urgent. “Steve,” full of need. “Steve,” your voice getting low and raspy. Like, really raspy and deep, almost sounding like a man’s voice rather than your own.

“Steve,” he pulled back to see you, calling his name, all your desire now replaced with impatience. “Steve,” that voice was not your voice, but it was familiar. “Steve, c’mon, you big dummy,” and suddenly, right before his eyes, your face melted and morphed away, leaving Bucky’s bearded face in its place. 

Steve jerked his head up from where it was resting on the desk, breath coming in deep jagged pulls as he quickly began to realize that it was just a dream, a very good dream, a very vivid dream.

“Stevie? You ok? You look, uh, a bit flushed,” Bucky was still standing in front of his desk looking down at him, seemingly torn between amusement and irritation.

“Yeah,” Steve cleared his throat, “Fine, Buck, fine. I must have nodded off.”

Bucky smirked knowingly, “Must’ve been a damn good dream, the way you were moaning Y/N’s name like that.”

Steve sputtered, his face growing hotter and redder by the second, “I was what? I didn’t, it was just, ah, shit.” 

Bucky laughed, shaking his head, “Actually you weren’t. I was just messing with you, but I’ll take that stuttering as a confession.”

Steve’s look of concern dropped and was immediately taken over by a scowl, “Jerk.”

“Yeah, but I’m your jerk,” Bucky said smugly, still smirking. “Anyway, it’s time to get up, we’ve got that meeting with Y/N in ten minutes. Will that be enough time for you to fap off in here a couple times, or should I have her push it back a little while?”

Steve’s scowl deepened, “I think I need to set some parental controls on your internet access. You’ve been spending too much time on Tumblr.”

Bucky barked out a laugh as he turned to go, shouting over his shoulder, “At least I’m getting with the times. Ten minutes!” 

Steve’s shoulders slumped forward, and he let out a long sigh as he rubbed furiously at his eyes. He was mortified and embarrassed, and couldn’t help but feel responsible somehow for the dream, and couldn’t escape the overwhelming sense of guilt of objectifying you like that, even unconsciously. He let out anther weary, stressed, and sleepy sigh.

This meeting was going to be long and hard. And he could almost hear what your knee-jerk response would be if you could have heard his thoughts just then, _that’s what she said_.

Another sigh. Yep, this meeting was going to be bad.

* * *

When he got to the meeting room two floors down, he was stopped by a friendly hand on his shoulder just outside.

“Steve?”

He turned to find the source of the familiar voice, “Sharon!” He greeted her with a smile, and they both shared a tight hug.

“How ya been?” He asked, pulling back to get a look at her, “Still stationed in Berlin?”

She smiled in her subdued way, “Yeah, I’m just here for a few weeks to consult on the still-pending corruption charges being brought against Cross Technologies after that whole incident with the Pym particle.”

Steve almost laughed, remembering the footage of a life sized Thomas the Tank Engine exploding out of a house and crushing a patrol car.

“What about you? You drinking enough water, getting enough sleep?” Sharon asked, remembering the number of times she had heard him leave his apartment in the middle of the night when she was still Kate, the nurse.

Steve raised his brows in feigned innocence, “Well, I am drinking plenty of water, but I can’t make any promises on the sleep part though.”

“Some things never change,” she smiled, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder.

And just at that moment he and Sharon were pulled from their friendly chatter by the sound of a cry and a grumbled cuss or two coming from the direction of the coffee station against the far wall. Steve looked over to see you feverishly blotting a large brown coffee stain on your work blouse with a wad of napkins, a look of disbelieving outrage on your face. At least he wasn’t the only one have a difficult morning.

The sound of Sharon clearing her throat pulled his gaze away from you, “A friend of yours?”

Steve was stunned. There’s no way she could know, not from that one longing look, right? He couldn’t be that painfully obvious, right? “Yeah, she’s um, I work with her.”

Sharon shook her head, smiling knowingly, “Well, maybe you should go help your friend out. You and I can catch up later. I’ve still got your number in my phone.”

Steve glanced back over at you, now attempting to mop up the puddles on the counter, before smiling back at Sharon, “I would love to. Free this afternoon?”

“I’ll pencil it in,” she said before walking off.

And with that he took a deep breath, did his best to push that damnable dream out of his mind, and strode over to you with a feigned confidence that he hoped was convincing.

Fake it ‘til you make it, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVED WRITING THIS. As for the interaction with Steve, I make no implications as to whether their romance ever existed in this story. It’s up to you to decide.
> 
>  **Thank you so much** to the anon who requested this. It’s a favorite trope of mine and I am so glad that I’ve been able to write it again!!
> 
> And if you're curious what else will be coming out and exactly where everything fits (I'll be sure to tell you where everything fits in the notes too), take a gander at [my masterlist on tumblr](https://eufeme.tumblr.com/post/168753951310/even-the-smallest-masterlist).


	2. In Which Steve Holds On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt here](https://eufeme.tumblr.com/post/173197780766/how-about-a-one-shot-where-steve-meets-readers). Steve watches the train wreck of your fake date with Paul, stewing in his own anger and guilt. So of course he keeps his cool, right? Ha, yeah right.
> 
> Takes place during the events of [Chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13071114/chapters/30522054).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’m not entirely happy with this one, mostly because I feel like Steve is a little out of character? Maybe, I also have a pounding headache, so maybe that’s just it. Lol, uhg, please ignore me rn.

  
Steve coiled the warm fleece scarf tightly around his neck in a futile attempt to seal in any body heat before stepping out into the cold evening. That was one thing he’d forgotten about his old body in all his years as Captain America: just how cold he used to get. In the past few days since he’d been hit with the serum, it seemed like he’d been various shades of chilled no matter how warmly he dressed or how hot he ran his showers. Clammy fingers and goose bumped skin were quickly becoming his new norm, a norm he was eager to alter.

It wasn’t that he had hated this body before he ran headfirst into that green pod in 1943. It had merely been his reality. But after having lived in a healthy body for several years, it was that much harder to go back to being weak, to gasping for air at the slightest exertion, to not being able to see or hear well, at having his heart beat out of control for no reason. He couldn’t help but feel betrayed by his body’s sudden inability to keep up with him.

Giving himself one last look in his floor length mirror, feeling as satisfied with his appearance as he could be, he stepped into the hall only to be greeted by Bucky, leaning against the far wall with a face that spoke volumes.

“Before you say anything, just don’t,” Steve said with an offish wave of his hand. 

Bucky merely kept his gaze steadfastly fixed on Steve, his only movement being a slight twitch in his left brow.

Steve sighed, “I’m the reason Y/N is going on this date, I’ll be damned if I let her do it alone. Okay?”

Bucky still gave no response. The old Bucky would have spoken freely, carelessly even, teasing Steve until the truth finally came out, if only to shut him up. But Bucky now? He didn’t have to say a damn thing to get Steve to talk. All he had to do was tilt his head appraisingly, his gaze still unmoving.

“Ok, Buck, what do you want me say?” Steve threw his arms up in exasperation. Why fight it? “She’s doing this for me, and I feel guilty on so many levels. I don’t want Y/N to go on this date, because I like her, more than like her. But I also respect her, so I have to let her do as she chooses even if it’s just for me, which I know it doesn’t seem like that’s a sign of respect right now maybe, but it is, trust me.” 

Steve was breathing heavily between each phrase as he spoke, agitation evident in every enunciation. “And I also want to not be like this anymore because maybe if I’m big and strong again maybe she’ll actually see me, but in order to get there, I have to betray her by making her use her gender as a bargaining chip. And I know, she never really saw me as more than a friend before, but maybe now that we’re getting closer, she will, especially if I can get out of this body and back into my old-new one. Y’know?” 

Steve’s defensive posture took on a more offensive tinge, as he squared his shoulders and pointed up at Bucky, “And it’s not like I’m the only one who needs this, Buck. The world needs Captain America, they need my protection, so really, this should be seen as a selfless act right? That I’m giving up normalcy for a lifetime of fighting? Right? So, really, this whole fake date has more to do with national and global security than anything else. Right?”

Steve finally ran out of steam and settled on fixing Bucky with a glare, challenging him to speak.

And when Bucky finally did speak, it made him want to scream. “I was just going to tell you that you still have the store tag on your new jeans,” Bucky said flatly, just a hint of a smile glinting behind his eyes.

Steve closed his eyes in irritation with a low and slow sigh. Well, there was no coming back from that little speech, was there? Reaching down and pulling the tag off with a snap, heedless of any damage he might incur on the fabric, he cracked open the door to his quarters and dropped the tag and the plastic fastener into the nearby garbage can where a whole slew of them had been thrown in the last twenty-four hours, all reading XXS or 29” Inseam.

Bucky cleared his throat when Steve reemerged, “So, do you want to talk about it, or was that it?”

Steve sighed in response.

“Just answer me this, Steve. Why are you really trying to reverse this? Is it because of Y/N? Or are you doing it for yourself? America? What?” Bucky looked down at his friend, face free of judgement, just concern and genuine interest.

Steve leaned against the wall next to Bucky, “Honestly? I don’t even know. All of the above?”

Bucky made a sound like he was going to protest, but Steve cut him off, “No, really. I want to be wanted by her, but I also still want to fight and be needed by everyone else. I know that sounds conceited, but I’ve been Captain America for so long, and he’s as much a part of who I am as that scrawny kid back in Brooklyn. I don’t think I know how to be just Steve Rogers anymore.”

Bucky turned and fixed Steve with a piercing stare, his lips pressed together thoughtfully, “I know.”

“You do? Or are you just saying that?” Steve looked back up at him dubiously.

Bucky almost looked offended, “Really, Steve?” He rolled his eyes, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth just barely softening the gesture, “I’m never going to be Bucky from Brooklyn again. Ever. He died the first time he fired his gun in Italy. But I’m also not the Winter Soldier just because I lived as him for so long. Part of me is a little of both of them and the other part of me is neither. I am who am, and who I am is a mixture of these memories and lives I’ve lived, same as you. Trust me, Steve. I know.”

Steve felt his chest squeeze, but before he could blubber out words of affection or gratitude, Bucky just smiled and gave him a gentle punch on the shoulder. “Alright, don’t get sappy onme. Go on, go moon over your girlfriend. Just don’t get all heroic and fuck it up.”

Steve just rolled his eyes, “Not even I’m that dumb.”

Unfortunately, he really was.

* * *

He could still feel your breath on his face, still feel the soft skin of your cheek grazing under his knuckles, and still feel the way your beautiful eyes had pierced right through him in the cramped van as you now angrily tore your earpiece out and smashed under your toe on what was no doubt a very grimy floor. Steve could barely bite back his laughter as Tony called out in anger at seeing you go off script again, this time permanently.

“Goddamn it.” Tony punched the small desk housing several small screens, which offered several camera angles of your face, Paul, and the dark, dingy bar, all originating from the small ring on your right hand. “It’s not that I’m mad about the earpiece, dime a dozen, but damn it. She’s off script and now we don’t even have a line of communication.”

“Well,” Sam said, his voice muffled by another mouthful of popcorn, “You were talking a lot and almost made her break her cover like three times.”

“That’s not the point. Damn it,” Tony bit back, staring angrily at the screen.

Steve looked proudly back to the screen where your face was looking at Paul with barely concealed disgust, your face warped by the wide-angle lens. The amused delight he felt at your small act of rebellion was a pleasant reprieve from the barely contained rage he’d been feeling from the moment Paul first looked at you when you returned his clearly unwanted hug. 

At the moment, Paul was running off about football and his fantasy league for the second time that night, and Steve found himself torn between feelings of pity for your boredom, guilt at being the cause of it all, and amusement because of your absolutely dreadful acting performance. And it must have been equal parts self-delusion and inebriation that allowed Paul to become convinced that you were actually having a good time.

And then Steve was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of your voice, just a few notes higher than normal, one of your many tells that would have given away your cover to a trained agent. _“So, Paul. You’ve never told me about your family. What are you parents like?”_

Luckily, Paul was no agent. He was also very drunk. “ _Well, what would you like to know, baby girl?”_

_“Tell me about your father. I hear he’s got powerful connections in high places.”_

Even with the camera lens warping and stretching your face, Steve could see how much you hated smiling and laughing for Paul. The thought made his anger return full force, and the problem was that he was just as angry at himself as he was at Paul. Every fake smile you flashed, every look of feigned interest, it was all because of him, because he’d gone and gotten himself shot in the field.

Steve had to bite down on his lower lip to contain himself when Paul reached over and took a piece of gum from you with a suggestive twitch of his brow. The words coming through his own earpiece were muffled by the sound of his blood pumping loudly in his ears, clouding his senses that would have been so much sharper a few short days ago when he was still a super soldier. He could taste the coppery tang of blood as he bit down harder when he heard Paul gloat about a fertility statue in some misguided attempt to flirt. And his own feeling of guilt compounded when you leant forward and played along, a fake smile barely concealing your disgust and unease.

 _“Well, why don’t you and I wrap it up here? Eh?”_ No, no, no. This was a red flag. 

“Tony!” Steve huffed, “We gotta pull her out of there.” His hand tapped insistently on Tony’s shoulder as he waved Steve off because then you were talking Paul down, getting him to stay a bit longer.

“She’s got this Steve,” Sam comforted, his popcorn abandoned on the corner of the desk, your clear discomfort having soured the humor of the evening long beforehand.

“Quiet, you two!” Tony barked, and it was evident why. Paul was finally talking. Between the beer in his blood and your hand in his, the truth was now falling freely from his lips. But those should have been Steve’s fingers wrapped in yours, or anyone else’s fingers, but never Paul’s, not his hand stroking up your arm, not his fingertips fiddling with neckline of your dress.

And then Steve was standing, blood pounding in his ears, cheeks burning, fists clenched tight. And Sam’s firm hand was enveloping his small shoulder, gently pushing him back down into his seat as his eyes wordlessly told him to cool off. Tony was staring intently at the screen, pointedly ignoring Steve’s outburst.

_“Well, it’s a highly protected number, so a lot of safeguards are in place to protect it, but I am able to get around those safeguards.”_

_“That’s pretty impressive. How on earth do you keep up with all that?”_

“Nonono, what’s he doing?” Tony was pleading with your face on the screen, “Shit, what? C’mon, Y/N, lay on the charm.” And finally Steve came out of his cloud of anger and guilt long enough to see why. Paul was slapping down a stack of bills and standing to put on his jacket.

 _“There that should cover the tab and then some. Now, c’mon, let’s head back to my place, and we can discuss this,”_ Paul paused, clearly eyeing you up and down, making Steve’s cheeks burn at the sight, _“in more detail.”_

_“Aw, why do you want to leave so fast? I’m having such a wonderful time here with you, Paul.”_

Steve could hear the rising anxiety in your voice. He had spent so many hours cataloguing and memorizing your voice, every tone, every inflection. But this? This voice tinged with apprehension, disgust, and, he thought with a wrench in his gut, distress? This was new. He never wanted to hear this voice again, wished he’d never had to hear in the first place, and regretted that he was the reason for it.

And just like that Steve snapped. This was over. This was not worth it; he was not worth it. It wasn’t until the crisp night air stung his cheeks that he became aware that he was walking, that Sam was pawing at his back and shoulders, trying to pull him back into the van, that Tony was yelling angrily from desk, unable to leave his post at the computers.

Steve didn’t care. He was walking down the sidewalk, tunnel vision blinding him to anything but the distant street corner that led to the bar, to Paul, to you.

“Steve! Steve, c’mon, man. Ain’t worth it,” Sam was yelling as loud as he could without causing a scene, jogging backwards in front of Steve, hands outstretched, trying to decide between manhandling his best friend over his shoulder and respecting that invisible line that separated agency from urgency. “She’s so close. C’mon, Steve, stop.”

But Steve didn’t care. Your voice and Paul’s were still arguing in his earpiece, and you were losing. Steve didn’t break stride, only locked eyes with Sam, daring him to pick him up and drag him away, daring him to use his current weak body against him, daring him to break his respect for a fellow Avenger and give Steve a reason to throw the first punch, anything to give his anger an easy out.

But the dim neon lights of the bar were now shining overhead, and Sam lowered his outstretched arms in defeat. “Steve, don’t do this. She’s so close to getting it out of him,” Sam’s voice was pleading but tinged with the knowledge that it was futile. “C’mon, Steve.”

Steve was grateful for Sam, really he was, but that wasn’t enough to change his mind. But the small reprieve as they stood on the sidewalk outside the bar did at least give Steve a moment to breathe, a moment to let some of his anger cool so that he wouldn’t do something he would regret, like getting arrested for public brawling. He took a deep breath, letting the cold night air clear his head a little even though it burned his and tickled at his lungs, “I am not letting her get in a car with that man. That’s taking this too far, Sam. You know it, Tony knows it, and I know it. This ends now.”

Sam knew he’d lost. He could keep fighting Steve the whole way into the bar and make a big scene. He and Steve would probably get thrown out before even making halfway to where you and Paul were still bickering about leaving or staying. But he also knew Steve was right. You getting into a car with Paul was going too far. There’d be nothing to stop his wandering hands without the need for public decency. 

And you’d go along with it in a misguided attempt to help Steve because Sam could plainly see that of course you’d do anything for Steve, from jumping in front of moving traffic or going on this damn date. You’d do it for Steve, and Sam couldn’t be party to that any longer. And so Sam let his shoulders slump and his defensive posture fall. He stepped aside and let Steve pass.

Sam knew Tony was going to give him hell as he looked back at Steve’s squared shoulder one last time before starting back down the street to the idling van, but he’d take it.

Steve’s eyes, astigmatism and all, immediately found you in the dim yellow and orange lighting of the bar, and his feet seemingly carried him toward you by no conscious volition of his own. Your posture was defensive and guarded, and Paul’s hand was still on your shoulder. And all Steve could think about was getting that hand as far away from you as possible.

With his index and middle fingers held firm, Steve reached up to the much taller man and jabbed him several times on the shoulder, “Hey, how about you show some respect to the lady here? If she says she doesn’t wanna leave then she doesn’t wanna leave.” 

But Steve didn’t care to hear any possible response Paul might have. All that mattered was you. “Are you okay, Y/N?” His eyes searched yours for any sign that you were relieved, grateful, angry, anything. All he found was dull surprise.

Steve heard Paul ask with confusion and irritation, “What the hell is this? Y/N, who is this guy?” But Steve didn’t care about Paul, didn’t care to humor his questions. Paul hadn’t earned that privilege. Steve kept his attention fixed on you, reading you for any signs of distress.

What Steve could not anticipate was your clipped and nervous laughter followed by a condition that he had once heard you describe as ‘word vomit.’

“Haha, oh, um, this is, uh, this is my, grandson.” 

What.

“Uh, yep, heh, my grandson. He was adopted. His name is Steee—ewiee. His name is Stewie.” 

Steve was motionless, speechless. There were no words, no emotions that could succinctly sum up the bare shock he was experiencing. Grandson? Really? Stewie? Really?!

“Your grandson? Y/N, what is going on?” Paul’s perplexed question gave words to Steve’s as yet unenunciated startled silence as your hand shot out and gripped his shoulder with an iron grip, fingertips digging through the cushiony layers of his coat and sweater with a slight sting.

You let out another nervous chuckle as your fingers flexed firmly, causing Steve to squirm under the pressure “I mean, he’s not literally my grandson; that would be absurd. He’s like a grandson to me though. He’s probably just out of baseball practice. He’s in the little leagues, hmm?” 

Your face, which was openly hostile, glared down into his eyes, demanding him to speak, to pull his weight in the current catastrophe he’d caused. 

Steve managed to eke out a simple agreement, “Yep, little leagues.”

Paul may have been a fool and also very drunk, but he was nothing if not an avid sports fan, and clearly you were in over your head. “It’s not even baseball season. Y/N?” 

“He sometimes comes and finds me here after practice, but he can be a little protective at times, isn’t that right, Stewie? Sometimes he can accidentally ruin a perfect moment, but he means well.”

If Steve hadn’t been squirming in your grip just then he might have huffed at that. It was obvious that the evening was blown, but if you wanted to play it like that, then Steve wasn’t going to back down. Cocking his brow as if to say ‘challenge accepted,’ Steve bit back, “Well, grandma, then perhaps it’s time to go? I think you’ve had enough to drink.” 

The look on your face was priceless, as if you had somehow not realized that he would dish it back. And then Paul stole your attention yet again as he almost pleaded, “Aw, c’mon, you’re not really going to leave now, are you?”

He could see it in your eyes. You were going down one of your mental spirals, and he could almost see the flashes of thoughts and considerations flitting across your eyes as you weighed all possible options. But what scared him was that after all this coercion and disrespect, that you were still entertaining the idea of continuing the evening with Paul. Steve couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let you demean yourself for him any longer. There had to be another way to get into the Smithsonian.

Steve fixed you with a pleading stare as he finally managed to break loose from your hand gripping his shoulder, giving it a gentle rub as he said, “Please, Y/N? I need you to walk me to my friend, Sam’s, house. He’s expecting me now.” 

You finally conceded with a sigh. Steve knew it wasn’t fair to keep fighting you like that. You’d been mentally taxed all evening from debating and needling Paul, and it was clear that you just no longer had the energy to fight Steve. 

“Well,” you said, looking at Paul with an almost pitying glance, “I’ve been summoned, and I can’t say no to that.” Steve felt a pang of guilt at that last bit. You had come so far only to be shot down like this. He didn’t know which made him feel guiltier, that you’d had go through this evening at all or that it had all been for nothing.

Steve turned away looking at the bar as you and Paul exchanged a few more pleas when Paul’s voice made his blood run cold, “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere, kid? You look familiar.”

Steve was about to blubber out a response when Tony’s voice practically screamed in his ear, “Not a word! Now get the hell out of there, Rogers.” 

At the same time Steve could also make out you saying something about a fantastic torch or something, probably another one of your pop culture references. But before Steve could respond to either you or Tony’s still angry voice in his ear with a few interjections from Sam, you had his arm in another tight grip and were whisking him out of the bar.

When he saw that you were looking for the van that had previously been across the street, Steve managed to stammer out, “They’re down the street, two blocks, around the corner. They had to get out of the loading zone.”

Steve had never seen you angry. He’d knew you were easily irritated, but you usually responded with sarcasm or by simply ignoring people. But this was new. As he swallowed a nervous lump in his throat, his lungs burning from the brisk pace, he realized that he was the cause, yet again. He was the reason for this whole debacle, he was the reason it was all for naught, and he was the reason you were simmering with real, actual anger. Your arm tightened its hold almost instinctively, and he tried to pry himself loose. Big mistake.

“Steve! What. The. Fuck?!” You yelled, dropping his arm with a huff. “What the hell were you thinking? You ruined it! I had it! I was so close, and you fucking ruined it! Why couldn’t you just leave your hero hat off for one fucking minute?”

You were right. He had fucked it all up. He couldn’t stop being a hero for just once in his life. But the words stung. He couldn’t help but feel defensive, but he also couldn’t bring himself to fight back. So he looked away, guilt, shame, and hurt pride making his chest feel tight and his muscles tense.

And then you softened. Your arms relaxed and you let out a plaintive sigh, “Shit, Steve, I—”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I get it.” He still couldn’t meet your eyes, “I don’t know what to say. I’m just, I’m sorry.” He wouldn’t fight back. Anything he might have to say about you being foolish and careless with your safety and your own dignity would only make things worse and undercut his apology. He was guilty, but he was also hurt.

And then Tony’s voice cut through his thoughts, “Rogers, get back here before you’re seen by anyone else. You two can kiss and make up later, but you need to get off the street now so that I can rip you a new one. Got it?”

“Tony’s calling us back. Said we can yell and apologize later,” Steve muttered, abbreviating Tony’s words. He spun on his heel and headed back down the street to the awaiting van, unable to look at you.

He knew you felt guilty. He knew you probably hadn’t meant to yell at him like that. But you had. And it hurt. And so did his own guilt. And so did Sam’s voice when he said, “Y/N, we tried to stop him, but you know how he is,” as if Steve were a rebellious child.

Why did this body make everything he tried backfire? Why couldn’t he be a hero and make a difference like this? Why could no one take him seriously, knobby knees, asthma, and all?

“Both of you. Inside. Now.” Steve couldn’t blame Tony for being angry.

* * *

“So how’d it go?” Bucky asked, leaning against the door frame to Steve’s bedroom where he lay face-down on his quilt.

“Seriously, Buck?” Steve’s voice was muffled by the cottony covers, but even so, there was an indignant huff to it.

Steve rolled over onto his back and Bucky lay down next to him, just like then they were kids looking for shapes in the clouds.

“You saw that back there,” Steve waved toward the door and the direction of the bitter argument between you and Tony that the rest of the team had witnessed. “I fucked up. Bad.”

Bucky sighed lowly, “How bad? I saw Y/N yelling at Tony. She mad at you?”

Steve whispered a bitter laugh, “Yeah. I’m the reason the evening came to nothing. She yelled at me, not that I didn’t deserve it.”

“Just apologize to her,” Bucky said matter-of-factly, as if that would solve the whole situation.

“I did, and she looked at me like I kicked a puppy.”

“So then what’s the big deal? You’re sorry, she’s sorry,” if only the world could be as simple as Bucky sometimes made it out to be.

“It hurt. I know I deserved it, but…” Steve trailed off. “I don’t want her to have to say sorry. She shouldn’t have been at that bar with Paul to begin with. And if she hadn’t, none of this would have happened.”

Bucky was silent for a moment, “But it did happen, Steve. Make peace with it and move on. That’s all you really can do.”

Steve sighed. Bucky was right, of course. But that didn’t make this easier, didn’t make Steve feel better, didn’t make seeing you again any less daunting.

“For what it’s worth, Steve. This is one awkward conversation you shouldn’t skip. Besides me and Tony, Y/N’s the only other person who hasn’t been walking on eggshells around you the last couple days. And if that’s not someone worth holding onto, then I don’t know who is.” And with that Bucky stood from the bed, stretching his arms above his head, before giving Steve another one of his piercing looks and leaving Steve to wallow on his bed in self-pity and spiraling thoughts.

When Monday came, he only hoped he had the courage to face you

But Bucky was right. You were worth holding onto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, the next ‘ficlet’ should not be as long as this one (jesus take the wheel), and I hope to have it out by next weekend if not sooner? Maybe? THANK YOU for reading as ALWAYS!!!!


	3. Deleted Scene: In Which You Invent the Bearmouse and the Horned Beluga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @novumlibellum for this [prompt](https://eufeme.tumblr.com/post/173197880351/hi-may-i-request-something-with-pre-serum-steve)! Your feelings for Steve are put to the test when you go against him in a game of pictionary where everyone’s a fucking art critic. But who are you kidding, you just fall a little harder for Steve.
> 
>  **ETA:**   
>  The title, lol.   
> Also this is set during the events of Chapter 7: "In Which You Make Like Icarus and Fly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is a little different from my usual fare in that has PICTURES!! You’ll see what I mean. And lol, please know that I poured my heart and soul into the artwork in this fic. DON’T MAKE FUN OF ME OK? (jk, yall can fuckin drag me, i cannot draw). But don’t you DARE criticize even one line in @spookyscaryscully ‘s drawings (credited below).

_Previously_

> _If Monday had made you feel heavy and low, then Monday night had been the tonic to cure you. When you awoke early Tuesday morning for your workout in the company gym, you were practically effervescent…_
> 
> _…That morning your jog seemed easier, almost enjoyable. When you had to cowtow to Joyce from the Smithsonian again about the changes to the dedication program in Steve’s absence, you were delighted to accommodate her and happy to take the blame for the whole debacle. Even ducking Paul in the kitchen during lunch was somehow less of a drag. Your whole day was tinted with the rosy glow of your newly realized feelings. And for a chronically cynical and pessimistic person, this was a welcome change of pace…_  
> 

“Game night? Seriously?” You groaned into your cell phone, “That sounds awful.”

“Don’t be such a grouch,” Wanda’s lightly accented voice chided through the poor cell signal, “Besides, are you really going to pass up a chance to see Steve and the rest of us?”

You winced self-consciously at the mention of his name, “Why did you have to phrase it like that?”

“Oh, no reason,” you could clearly hear Wanda’s poorly feigned innocence, “Just, he’s been kind of down since last week and could use the company. He’s the reason we thought to do this and invite you.”

God. She really knew how to fight dirty. “Okay, Wanda. Even though I only just got home thirty minutes ago and already took off my bra, I’ll put it back on and take another train back to the tower, just for you.”

You could hear her stifle a giggle through the static, “Happy should be pulling up to your building any minute now.”

“Goddamn it, you guys really need to stop doing that. Besides, doesn’t Happy have anything better to do than chauffeur me around?”

“He is head of security, and you are very important to the team. Really, this is a compliment to you,” she paused long enough for you to roll your eyes before they nearly popped out of your head, “And don’t fool yourself, Y/N. You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing it for Steve.”

And with that she hung up leaving you with only Douglass to gape at in flustered shock before you scrambled to get dressed.

* * *

By the time you made it to the tower after a silent drive in the back of Happy’s SUV, it was well after seven o’clock, and you could feel your stomach clenching and grumbling from hunger. Luckily for you, when you stepped onto the residential floor, you were greeted not only by the sounds of laughter from the few members of the team still around, but also the smell of greasy, carb-laden foods that you knew you had no business eating but would regardless.

“Y/N’s here!” Steve’s slightly slurred and overly exuberant voice called from where he was sprawled on one of the many couches, pint glass in hand. Clearly he was taking advantage of his reduced metabolism. 

There was a loud and garbled chorus of ‘hellos’ and ‘heys’ from the others. Clearly, they were all taking advantage of this night to cut loose.

“Hello, all. Steve.” You smiled at him, amused by the way his cheeks were flushed from the alcohol. Steve scrambled up from the couch and sidled up next to you as you began to make your way to the kitchen table, which had an impressive spread of foods. 

“Damn, yall live like this?” You said, gawking at all the food. 

“Well, we are all a bunch of soldiers and superheroes. Plus, Tony hires a personal chef to cook for us most nights.” Steve must have seen the way your brows shot up at his words as he quickly added, “And before you say anything, I didn’t come out of my room while she was here cooking and plating the food.” 

“Wasn’t gonna say a thing,” you smiled slyly at him as you began dishing up hummus and veggies along with a variety of fancy looking cheeses and flatbreads.

Steve looked into your eyes a beat too long. Must have been the alcohol. 

“So,” Steve hesitated, still looking at you, pupils the size of dinner plates, “I’m gonna have to see _Jurassic Park 2_ soon. I never knew a dinosaur movie could be so good.”

You smirked at your successful recommendation, “You know you can probably just stream it here. I’m sure Tony has about a million movies.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Yeah, but I’d rather have Douglass to clutch at when it gets intense.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at him shyly. But even though your heart was beating with excitement and hope, you were also inexplicably terrified. So did what you always did: you fell back on your tried and true method for all things emotional. You deflected, “You say that now, but I know from experience that if you squeeze him too hard, the claws come out.”

“Well then, I guess I’d have to clutch at you.”

Had you been drinking, you probably would have spat out your drink at that. Instead what came out was a strangled sounding cough as you choked on the air you were now gasping for. “Sorry. Tickle in my throat.”

Steve gave you a friendly slap on the back to help you through the cough. “Need some water?”

You all but sputtered out, “No, but what’s a gal gotta do to get a beer around here?” 

* * *

About an hour, one meal, and several hands of poker later, Bucky and Natasha rolled out a large touch screen monitor propped up on a wheeled tripod, and Natasha held up a large stylus with a smug smile, “Pictionary anyone?”

Your groan of disagreement was drowned out by the much louder ‘yeahs’ and cheers of assent. You were talented in so many ways. You were great at your job; you knew how to cook; you could sew a hem and repair buttons; and you could write great short stories in your free time, not that you’d ever show them to anyone. But drawing? That was a skill that had evaded you. You had no sense of spacing or shading, never knew where the lines belonged on a page to match the image in your head. Pens were for words, not shapes. Pictionary was perhaps your most hated game.

A soft nudge of Steve’s elbow against your arm drew you out of your angry musings. “Y/N? You okay?”

You looked at him with a glare that he met with an amused smile, “No. I hate this game; it’s the worst.”

“Ahw, c’mon. It’s all in good fun,” he coaxed, looking at you, eyes just slightly glassy from the drink. To say you were momentarily stunned by his eyes and the way his cheeks were still flushed that rosy pink from the alcohol would be an understatement. Had you any artistic talent, those cheeks would be the first thing you’d paint.

You swallowed and looked away, managing to mutter out, “That’s easy for you to say; you’re a fucking da Vinci.”

He clicked his tongue and looked away, unwilling to take the compliment.

Seeing now that it was his turn to look away in embarrassment, you prodded a little further, although, to be fair, you were only telling the truth, “No seriously. I mean it, you’re an amazing artist, you’re a master tactician, you’re objectively very intelligent, and most of the time you’re a total badass.”

“Most of the time?” 

You had expected to see a fallen face and pinched brows, but instead were met with the Steve’s on va voir face that you had only ever heard about after various missions. 

“Don’t make me arm wrestle you,” he muttered challengingly with a twitch of his brow.

But before you could get out a smartass remark of your own, Bucky was calling over, “Hey, will you two quit whatever it is that you’re doing and get over here?” And with a wry smile directed at your looks of denial and irritation, he added, “Oh, and you’re both on different teams.”

“Ah, that’s bullshit!” If you, Natasha, and Vision were going up against, Bucky, Wanda, and Steve, there was no conceivable way your team could win.

“Don’t be sore,” Bucky all but laughed, “We had Friday randomize the team lists.”

“Wow, Friday really sucks at randomizing,” you grumbled, not pleased that it would be a dream team versus the remedial connect-the-dots team.

“I heard that, Ms. Y/LN,” Friday’s disembodied and decidedly offended sounding voice rang out.

“Fucking computer. Well, when the cylon apocalypse starts, don’t say I didn’t warn any of you,” you muttered under your breath, hoping that Friday wouldn’t hear, but of course, Friday heard all. And when Steve shot you a questioning look, you just shook your head, “Battlestar Galactica, just, never mind.”

* * *

_Koala_

You stared down at the prompt that flashed on your phone with a strange wariness. On the surface, it seemed simple enough. You could see in your mind’s eye a koala bear clear enough, but as you raised the stylus to the drawing application on the touch screen while Natasha and Bucky snickered teasingly, you had no idea how to move your hand. 

“Mouse!” Shouted Natasha as you finished the crude shape of a head.

“Oh, come on!” You shouted back, “Does that does not look like a mouse!”

Bucky stood, a frown on his face, “Hey, no talking! How many times we gotta go over this?”

You grumbled under your breath as you turned back to your drawing.

“Yes, is this a drawing of some species of ursid?” Vision asked as you began forming the body and tail.

“What in the good goddamn is an ursid?” You called over your shoulder.

“No talking!” Steve shouted before Bucky could. You looked back and saw a shit eating grin plastered over his face and still red cheeks.

“He means, is it a bear?” Natasha clarified, grinning over her tumbler of gin and tonic.

You practically threw the stylus in your excited gesticulation, “Doh, yes, yes yes!”

Vision smiled in his subdued manner and followed up, “Is it a brown bear?”

“No!”

“Black bear,” called Natasha.

“No, c’mon!”

“Is it a sloth bear?” Vision asked thoughtfully.

“No!” You growled, as you drew its claws, “Different bear!”

“No talking!” Wanda took her turn shouting.

“Bearmouse,” Natasha shouted with a laugh, nearly spilling her drink.

“Are you fucking serious, Nat? There is no such thing. It’s a small bear!”

“No talking!” Wanda, Bucky, and Steve called out in eerie unison.

“Jesus, alright!” You shouted before an idea hit you. Koalas eat leaves, so if you drew a leaf, surely, they would get it. As you finished the leaf, you pointed to the leaf repeatedly.

“Ah, I think I know this,” Vision smiled and looked around as you gestured victoriously for him to speak. “Is it _Allium ursinum_ , otherwise known as bear garlic?”

Your mouth dropped in shock, “What?!”

“Aaand,” Bucky drawled, holding up the timer, “Time’s up!” 

“Goddamn it!” You shouted, really throwing the stylus this time. “Koala! It’s a fucking Koala bear! Look, it’s eating leaves!” Natasha was laughing at the whole scene, while Vision explained to her the general morphology of the bear garlic plant and how he had been misled by your poor leaf shape as you sputtered in barely contained anger.

“Alright!” Bucky laughed, jumping up and looking at a prompt on his phone, “No need to be a sore loser.”

“I’ll make you sore, loser,” you grumbled, settling back down on the couch.

Within seconds, Bucky had drawn a rough but artistic outline of a sun peeking over a hill.

“Sunset?” Wanda asked.

Bucky rolled his hands over themselves to keep Steve and Wanda on that train of thought.

“Sunrise?” Steve asked almost immediately.

“Yeah, Stevie!” Bucky called victoriously, smiling more brightly than you’d ever seen him smile before.

Before they could celebrate too much though, Nat all but leaped from the couch and took her position at the board.

Soon enough there was a crude but discernable shape of a chair on rockers.

“Rocking chair!” You called out, tipping back the last of your beer and standing to go get another.  


“Ahw, yes!” Natasha cheered, pumping her fist. “That’s how you draw!”

“I resent that!” You called back, adding, “Anyone else need anything while I’m up?”

“Can you get me another blackberry cider?” Asked Steve, as he stood to take his place at the monitor.

“You got it!” You said, hurrying into the kitchen, not wanting to miss out on watching Steve’s drawing. 

But by the time you got back, he had already drawn and shaded, using different brush tools on the app, a surprisingly detailed and perfect and precise and beautiful full moon. Seriously?

“Full moon,” guessed Bucky.

Steve motioned them to go further.

And Wanda brought it home, “Man on the moon!”

Steve turned around, his smile almost making you forget about the fact that you hated Pictionary, that you hated losing, that you were shit at drawing and frustrated by the whole game. And when his eyes drifted to yours, you couldn’t tell if it were the beer or the way his whole face lit up that made your head go a bit dizzy.

But before you knew it, Vision was standing at the monitor and drawing out an awful but recognizable cow, complete with udders. And even though Natasha had guessed it pretty quickly, your team was still lagging far behind the other, especially after Wanda quickly drew a cutesy sailboat, which Steve guessed just as fast.

And then you found yourself, yet again, standing in front of the monitor and looking down at the prompt on your phone with cautious optimism.

_Beluga whale_

That should be easy, right. Just draw a cylinder with fins and a giant tusk, right? Of course right. You had this. And so you drew just that.

“Oh, narwhal!” Shouted Natasha almost immediately.  


“No! Look!” You pointed furiously at the tusk.

“Y/N, that’s a tusk, right?” Natasha asked.

You nodded your head energetically, carefully avoiding talking.

“Ok, then, it’s a narwhal. Narwhals have tusks,” she said, looking at you with authority.

“Oh, fucking hell!” You shouted at yourself, realizing that she was, in fact, correct. “Fucking whales.”

“No talking!” Bucky shouted, throwing his hands out.

“Stop being such a librarian, Bucky!” You spat back, scratching out the tusk and pointing back to the whale as if it would somehow help. If belugas weren’t the ones with tucks, then what the hell did they look like?

“Blue whale,” Vision guessed.

“Humpback whale,” Natasha tried, before asking, “Whale shark?”

“Ugh, no!” You grumbled as a flimsy idea hit you. Another damn supplemental drawing was what you needed. So you drew a tin of dots, with a fish shape and an egg shape on the side, hoping that Natasha’s Russian heritage would lead her to the right guess.

“Uhm, whale meat?” Natasha guessed with a grimace.

“What?” You asked in shock, “Yall eat whales in Russia?”

“C’mon, no talking, Y/N,” Wanda cautioned.

“Argh!” You growled and pointed at the tin, hoping she’d put it together. Natasha just looked at you in confusion as Vision pondered it stoically. 

And then the timer chimed the end of your round, soon joined by Bucky’s laughing.

“It was a beluga whale!” You despaired. “See? It’s a tin of beluga caviar. There’s a fish and there’s an egg…” You trailed off in defeat as Natasha and the rest started to laugh. God, you hated drawing. 

But even so, you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of your chest when you saw the way Steve was trying so hard to not laugh at you and your drawings. For some reason, that made it all worth it. 

And when he locked eyes with you and his laugh finally broke loose, you could have sworn you felt you heart flip at the sight.

You really were a goner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus take the wheel. Sorry this took so long to get out! As some of yall know, I started a new job, so in the craze of interviewing and now training, writing has taken the back burner, but I should be back up and running by the weekend. THANK YOU ALL FOR READING AND BEING JUST GENERALLY AWESOME PEOPLE.


	4. In Which You Give Steve a Glance to Build a Dream On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [From this prompt](https://eufeme.tumblr.com/post/173203040381/you-know-what-would-be-fun-like-a-prequel-scene). If there’s one thing Steve loves more than looking at you, it’s getting looks from you. And one day you give him a look and suddenly it all clicks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This can be read as a standalone fic.** This **prequel fic** is your classic 5+1 vignette style fic and is pretty much from Steve’s perspective. This is set from early on in Reader and Steve’s professional relationship up to pretty near the start of the series. This was really challenging writing shorter snippets than full fledged narrative arcs, but I really kind of fell in love with it too. Thanks, Anon for the wonderful prompt!

**The First…**

Steve would never presume to think he knew what your dreams and aspirations were, but if he could take a guess, he’d say this had to be on the list somewhere.

And as luck would have it, dreams do sometimes come true.  


Tony had called a meeting with the whole team to make sure there would be a consensus. Moira, their PR lead, had officially stepped down from her position earlier that month, taking a job at a firm near her hometown to be closer to her aging mother, and now Tony needed a replacement.

You were, of course, the natural choice, having been Moira’s surrogate for the past few weeks and generally liked among the Avengers. So it came as no surprise to Steve when the team unanimously and almost enthusiastically agreed to your promotion.

Ironically, you especially well suited for such a demanding job because of your general apathy regarding the Avengers. Even though Tony was slightly offended by your apparent lack of excitement when he had introduced you to the whole team several weeks previously, the last thing the team needed was a star-struck new PR lead, and you were decidedly anything but that.

Tony was in your office under the pretense of needing a new social media plan looked over. But Steve knew what was actually coming.

He leant against a cubicle wall several yards from your office doorway, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched Tony coyly slide the contract across your desk. He saw the way your keen eyes swept across the page, the way your brows pinched in confusion, and the way a disbelieving glint of excitement took over your face.

What Steve had not expected, though he should have seen it coming by now, was the way your mouth dropped and shocked profanities spilled forth.

“Are you fucking serious, Tony? Jesus, fuck, I— Really?” Steve could hear you across the floor, your normally even voice breaking with uncontrolled excitement.

“Really really. Congratulations, Y/N.” Tony reached his hand out to steady your shoulder, “You’ve earned this.”

Steve stood in awe as he watched the way your whole face lit up, the way your eyes wrinkled at the corners and your face broke into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. And when your eyes inadvertently flitted to his form and your smile brightened that much more, Steve felt that dull thrumming in his chest quicken.

But as soon as your eyes locked with his, they drew away, leaving Steve with a cold knot in his stomach.

Like a newly acquired addiction, Steve knew, in that moment, nothing would ever make his heart skip quite like seeing your smile or give him that weightless feeling that he had when your eyes had met his.

* * *

**The Second…**

It was your first business trip with the team. 

The Avengers would be making an appearance at a UN Security Council summit in Nairobi that was more or less an opportunity for positive press after the incident in Wakanda involving the “soggy ball-sack grapist,” as you had unaffectionately referred to the mad Titan.

At the moment, you were taking the advantage of those precious first minutes on the jet to have one last briefing with the team about talking points to discuss and which to avoid.

“In short, this whole summit is just gonna be giant circle jerk between the nations’ leaders, so I hope yall haven’t been skipping arm day at the gym,” you grimaced at yourself even as the words left your mouth seemingly of their own accord. “Remember to smile at the politicians and reporters alike. After everything that’s happened there’s no question that’s too intrusive or hard-hitting for at least a polite deflection. Nat, Steve, I’m looking at both of you. Keep the sass to a minimum.”

Natasha merely smirked while Steve shifted in his seat and flashed you what he hoped was a look of innocence. But your quirked eyebrow said you weren’t having any of it. “Don’t make me get a sarcasm jar. Even with just one dollar for every smart-ass remark out of you two, and I’ll be rich by the end of the week.”

Steve looked back down at his sketch pad in his lap, adjusting the shading around your eyes to make you look more irritated rather than pensive, unable to keep himself from smirking in response as he did so. 

“And if anyone asks about the rumors of a sentient raccoon, what are we all going to say?” You asked the team with the air of a jaded kindergarten teacher.

“No comment at this time,” everyone droned back in dreary unison.

“Y/N, will you please sit down now?” Tony called from the entire bench he had claimed for himself, arm rests up and his legs stretched out across the seats. “It’s seven hours to Heathrow and another eight and a half to Nairobi. As your boss, I’m ordering you to come have a drink and enjoy the amenities on my jet and save the work for some other time.”

You looked at him flatly from your impromptu workstation at the front of the plane’s cabin, “Sure, let me just be blasé about this. It’s not like the eyes of the entire planet and beyond aren’t going to be watching our every move or anything like that.”

“Ah, come on, you just said it was a gonna be a big circle jerk,” Sam called from his seat, his feet propped up, neck pillow in place, a mimosa held delicately in his fingers, and Netflix up and ready to play on his laptop. “Just because you’re unable to relax doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t.” 

You looked slightly crestfallen but nodded your head reluctantly as you sat back down in your seat when it became apparent that the remainder of both long flights were not going to be conducive to work, and you pulled out your small tablet to read.

Luckily, because of the unconventional layout of the seats and tables in the plane, you were sat facing Steve, who could still see you well enough to continue working on his sketch, feeling only slightly creepy as he did so. 

After a few quiet hours on the plane, you set the tablet down and stretched your limbs. You glanced around at the other lounging teammates in the cabin, taking in their various shades of sprawling when your eyes flitted to Steve.

You flashed him a polite smile before quickly looking away, busying yourself with digging around your carry-on bag for apparently nothing and then putting it back down under your seat and resuming reading on your tablet.

There was something in the way your eyes had slightly widened when they found Steve’s that made his breath catch just a little and an inkling of hope blossom in his chest. But the feeling fled as soon as it had come and Steve suddenly had no desire to continue sketching you, feeling that he was crossing some invisible line in the sand between admiration and inappropriateness.

Instead, he put the sketchbook back in his bag, safely tucked away from prying eyes, and dug his phone out of his pocket, shooting a text to Bucky who was seated just a few yards away.

> **Steve:** Buck, don’t read into this, but what do you think about Y/N?

It didn’t take Bucky more than a few seconds for him to shoot up and turn around in his seat and flash Steve the biggest and most threatening smile Steve had seen since before he’d left Brooklyn for the war.

> **Bucky:** Oh, but I am reading into this. So have you bought her a ring yet? 

Steve buried his face in his hands with a slight groan. Oh god.

* * *

**The Third…**

“Come on, Y/N. It’s happy hour, isn’t that what young successful people living in a city are supposed to do on Friday nights?” Tony shot back from his seat at the opposite side of the conference table from you. 

“Well, this isn’t a 90s rom com, so I think I’ll pass. Thank you anyway, Tony,” you responded with a look of irritated amusement, pointing back down to the meeting agenda in front of you.

“What plans could you possibly have to keep you from drinking with the Avengers? A lot of people would kill to be in your shoes.” He smirked, clearly baiting you.

You arched a brow, a glint of humor in your eyes, “I’ll have you know I’ve got a hot date with my Douglass tonight.”

Steve’s heart sank. Douglass? He had been operating under the impression for months and months that you were single. How could he have been so stupid? Of course, you had a boyfriend, of course. You were beautiful, smart, clever, successful. The single men of New York City had to be falling all over themselves to get a date with you.

But it was the way you had said ‘ _my_ Douglass’ with such an easy kind of affection that was the salt in the wound. This wasn’t just some date with some random guy, this was with someone especially important.

He scratched distractedly at the margins of his notepad with his too-short wooden pencil the remainder of the meeting, responding to questions with ‘hmms’ and nods, barely taking in any of what was being said. He was so disconnected from the meeting that he didn’t even notice when you ended it and the rest of the team began filing out around him, still scribbling mindlessly on borders of his notepad.

“Steve.” The sound of his name in your voice pulled him back into the present. 

“Huh?” He paused, taking in the now empty conference room, “Where is everyone?” 

You smirked, “Yeah, I dismissed the meeting three minutes ago. Was waiting to see how long you’d just sit there pretending you knew what was going on.”

Steve could feel his ears warm up with embarrassment, “Oh, no, I was just, uh…” He trailed off, unable to come up with even a lame excuse. Anything would be better than admitting that he hadn’t been paying attention to you.

“It’s okay, Steve. I’m not your teacher. Not gonna give you a detention because you’re having an off day,” you teased him, gathering up your pens, folder of notes, and tablet. “You okay?”

He quickly lied, leaning against the table facing you, arms crossed defensively across his chest, “Yeah, fine, just ready for the weekend I suppose.”

Your brows twitched with what he assumed to be polite interest, “Oh? Big plans I take it?”

“Ah, you know Tony,” he rolled his eyes in jest, “It’s just a happy hour, but he’ll turn it into something…” he paused, his lips pressing into a subdued grin, “well, more.”

Your smile seemed easy and your posture relaxed slightly, “Well, I would say don’t drink too much, but I guess that’s not really an issue for you, huh?”

“Not quite,” he muttered, grinning back. 

There was a palpable pause in the easy back and forth, and you looked like you were about to pick up your stuff to leave, so Steve broke the silence. He was nothing if not a glutton for self-induced pain.

“So, hot date, huh?” Steve was doing his damnedest to feign friendly interest and nothing more, “Where’s he treating you to?”

Your brows pinched slightly even as you smiled up at him quizzically and laughed softly under your breath, “It’ll just be a quiet night on the couch.”

Steve prayed to whatever gods could see him now—even if that meant Thor and Loki were witnesses to his embarrassment—that he was playing it cool. A night on the couch spoke to a relationship beyond what he could handle imagining. How he envied this Douglass and wished with everything he could muster that he was worthy of you.

“That sounds nice, good and low key,” his voice only slightly cracked as he did his best to meet your gaze, that same curious smile still lighting your eyes.

Then you really did gather up your things from the table, gesturing him toward the door with you. You propped open the door with your knee, holding it for him as he shuffled past, stealing only the one glance at your face.

“Well, Steve, hope you have a good weekend, and keep an eye on Tony tonight, yeah?” That amused glint still brightening your eyes.

“Oh, will do,” he waved his hands in agreement, “And you have fun on that date.”

Finally, a clipped but good hearted laugh escaped from your smile, “Oh, believe me, I will.”

And with that you turned on your heel and walked back toward your office along the far wall, leaving Steve standing still by the doorway to the conference room feeling lost and despondent, and hoping in some dark corner of his mind that your ‘Douglass’ would have to cancel on the date, leaving you to realize that he had never been worth your time. He shook his head slightly to rid himself of such selfish thoughts before he slumped toward the elevators.

A few short minutes later, he stepped out of the elevator and onto the first floor of the residences and spotted Bucky sitting in one of the many armchairs that were dispersed among the bookcases that dotted the floor.

He let his bulk and gravity pull him down into an adjacent chair with a loud ‘whump,’ sighing as he brought his forehead into his hands.

He could hear Bucky let out a weary sigh before marking his page and setting the book down on the end table. 

“Something bothering you, Steve?” He asked despite knowing the answer already.

Steve peeked around his hands, muttering lowly, “She’s got a date, with ‘her’ Douglass.”

Bucky stared at Steve unblinkingly for several long seconds before his face cracked into a rare wide smile and an even rarer full bodied laugh broke free. And the laughter was prolonged.

Steve pressed his lips in irritation, “I fail to see the humor in that, Buck.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Bucky gasped out between laughs. “Douglass is her fuckin’ cat.”

Oh. Well, that would explain the strange look you were giving him.

* * *

**The Fourth…**

You were off that day. 

Your eyes were unfocused, distant, sunken. Your complexion was dull, and you looked exhausted. 

You had gone through the press conference mechanically, answering basic questions with the canned responses you’d previously prepared. To an outsider, you looked like just another harried PR rep for the Avengers, but Steve knew better; Steve knew there was more than that. 

When he lightly rapped on the door jamb of your open office with his knuckles, he had expected to see your weary eyes masking emotions behind a calm and collected façade. He hadn’t anticipated that he would catch a lone tear running down your cheek before it was rapidly swept away by the back of your hand.

It was gone before it could even be acknowledged.

“Hey, Steve. What can I do ya for?” You asked with false cheer, the slightly nasal and stuffy tinge in your voice betraying your emotions.

Steve knew that you would not respond well to pity or sympathy, so he opted for a safe route, “Just came by to see how you’re doing.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Oh, better now that the press conference is over with.”

He gave you an unconvinced look as he slid down into the arm chair across your desk. “You sure? You look really tired, and, I dunno, you just seem off.”

You looked in his eyes a beat too long. The façade cracked, and you smiled painfully, “Nothing gets past you, huh?” Your face finally fell, and if Steve’s heart had always beaten quickly for your smiles, then it clenched painfully now for your sorrow.

You sighed before speaking, “I had to take Douglass into the animal hospital around 2:30 this morning. He started vomiting and shaking last night, and—” Your voice broke and you took a shuddering breath, “Anyway, he got into my trash a couple days ago and must’ve eaten a chicken bone I didn’t know about, and now it’s stuck in his stomach.” 

You took another ragged breath, clearly trying to keep it together, “It’s going to be over $4000 for the surgery, plus the lab work they already ran was over $500. Obviously, I’m getting him the surgery. He’ll go under later in the afternoon, but I’m just…stressed,” _and scared_. The unspoken phrase hung in the air, implicit in your expression.

He reached forward as if to take your hand but stopped himself. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he started lamely. “Take the day off. I could tell Tony for you.” He wanted to scoop you into his arms protectively, wanted to hold you and rub your back and tell you it would all work out. He wanted to make you not look so forlorn, feel so scared.

You shook your head, “I can’t. I need to be doing something, anything besides just waiting to hear back from the vet and wondering how I’m gonna afford this.”

But Steve wouldn’t take no for answer. He took out his phone and typed a message to Tony explaining the situation. When he was done, he looked back at you, staring dazedly at your desk.

“When are they starting his surgery?” He asked, keeping his voice soft.

You looked down at your watch, “Umm, in about an hour.”

“Where’s the hospital?”

“In Queens, not too far from my apartment. Why?” You asked.

Steve stood up from his chair and picked up your work bag from beside your desk, leaving no room for you to disagree, “Come on. I’ll get a car from Tony, and I’m taking you to the vet right now. You need to be there.”

You must have been relieved by his proposal because you offered no refusal, just stood and mutely nodded your head and left your office without even shutting down your computer.

Just over two hours later, Steve sat beside you in the waiting room and watched a few happy tears escape your eyes as the vet told you the surgery was a success and that they would be holding Douglass for another day under observation before he could go home safe and sound. 

He very nearly reached for your hand that time, wanting to share in your relief and happiness, but his better sense kept his impulses in check.

But when the receptionist explained to you that the invoice was being transferred to Mr. Stark, he couldn’t help but reciprocate your ecstatic but fleeting hug as a few more tears leaked out.

He’d thought seeing your smiles was a blessing, but they were nothing compared to seeing you wrapped in his arms.

* * *

**The Fifth…**

Tony had you on speaker as the limo drove down the road. Of course, you didn’t necessarily know that fact.

“That’s gonna be a hard pass, Tony,” your voice crackled through the speaker, and Tony responded with a groan, which just spurred you on, “Look, I just opened a bottle of red wine, and I’ve got on a face mask and my ‘your wealthy husband has unexpectedly died under mysterious circumstances’ robe, so nah.”

Natasha couldn’t hold back a that last bit, “What was that?”

There was a pause, and Steve could almost see how you were probably squinting your eyes in frustration, “I’m on speaker, aren’t I?”

“Oh yeah,” Natasha laughed out, “And you didn’t clarify.”

Steve had to bite back a laugh as you spoke, “My ‘your wealthy husband has unexpectedly died under mysterious circumstances’ robe. Kinda speaks for itself, doesn’t it? Anyway, how about I promise to join you all the next time you go to this oyster bar thing.”

Tony all but leapt in his seat in frustration, “That’s just it, Y/N. It’s a pop-up. That means it’s only open for one night: tonight.” He steadied his voice slightly before continuing, “If you don’t join us tonight, you’ll miss out on it forever.”

There was a long silence from Tony’s phone, then a sigh, and then the sounds of resignation. “Text me the address. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” You didn’t wait for a response before hanging up.

You had an amused expression of irritation on your face, the one reserved for specially Tony, as you walked into the surprisingly chic ambiance of the warehouse pop-up. 

“Okay, I’m here. Are you happy?” You threw your hands up in mock exasperation, smiling as you took the only open seat across from Steve.

“Very happy!” Tony shouted back, slightly buzzed from the abundance of white wine at the table.

You rolled your eyes and laughed as you reached for one of the bottles on the table and gave yourself a generous pour of the Sancerre, “Well, all I know is that raw oysters better be all they’re cracked up to be. I put on a bra for this.”

Sam’s face scrunched at that comment, “Wait, Y/N!” He too was a bit taken in by the wine, “Are you saying you’ve never had raw oysters before?”

You shrugged your shoulders and took a drink of your wine, “No? I’ve just never wanted to eat something that looks like a squished slug.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at your comment and the insulted sounds coming from Sam, Tony, and Natasha alike.

Natasha wasted no time, sliding the ice filled tray of oysters toward you, “Then wait no more. Just a squeeze of lemon and down the hatch.”

You eyed the oysters with suspicion, finally picking one up and holding it gingerly in your fingers, frowning as you looked up and saw nearly everyone’s eyes watching you.

“Quit staring, jeez. I’m not a zoo animal,” you grumbled as you squeezed the lemon wedge over the oyster. Rolling your eyes when you realized no one was looking away, you took a deep breath and tipped the oyster back.

Steve couldn’t help but stare. It also didn’t help that for once he wasn’t at risk of being caught staring, not when everyone else was staring too.

It was a delayed reaction. A full second passed between you pulling away the empty shell and your face crumbling into an expression of distressed disgust, as you held the oyster in your mouth, unwilling or unable to swallow it down.

Steve couldn’t stop the peel of laughter that rumbled in his throat at that, nor it seemed could anyone else. You finally gulped it down with a slight gagging sound, reaching for your wine, from which you drank deeply.

“Tastes like fucking cum, you sick fucks,” you spat out, your nose still scrunched in disgust and your mouth set in a grimace as you glared across the table at his laughing face. 

And even though Steve could feel his ears heating up at your comment, his mind drifting momentarily into dangerous territory, he couldn’t look away from you. Even though he got to see your angry face on numerous occasions, he never got tired of it.

And tonight, for whatever reason, it was all his, not that he was complaining.

* * *

**…Glance to Build a Dream On**

Steve felt like he was floating on a cloud. 

But he was neither floating nor on a cloud. He was lying horizontal in a bed as soft as a sponge, and his head felt like a marshmallow. 

These painkillers Dr. Cho had created specifically for him and Bucky were a godsend. Steve couldn’t feel the way his body was stitching together the torn flesh in his abdomen from where the knife had sunk in deeply…twice. Nor could he feel the throbbing ache at the back of his head where his skull had crashed into the concrete pillar.

All Steve could feel was silk and softness and serenity. 

And then he heard the door open. Dreading it was one of the doctors coming in to prod and test and question, he squeezed his still shut eyes that much harder, letting out a soft huffing sigh.

“Do you need me to call a nurse, Steve?” Your voice in his ears had his eyes shooting open, his body shooting upright, and a sudden stab of pain shooting through his stomach.

“Shit!” He gasped, clutching at his side, his eyes squinting in pain.

“I’m getting the nurse,” you said, a tense concern lacing your voice.

“No!” He held out his hand, beckoning you back, “No, I just, you startled me, and I overreacted. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” you responded, not sounding entirely convinced.

Steve finally cracked open his eyes again, and took you in. You were dressed casually, miles different from the skirts and dresses you wore at work and to Tony’s parties and happy hours. It was like he was seeing you for the first time all over again, and he suddenly wondered what it would be like to see you like this all the time. 

What would you look like in the morning before you did your hair and put on your make up? What would you look like reading on your couch on a lazy weekend afternoon? Or doing your laundry? Or running out to the nearest grocery store to get that one last-minute ingredient you forgot to pick for dinner? Or tackling Douglass for a bath?

He wanted to see you in all these moments and more, and that he knew in his heart would never be his, and he could have wept for the unfairness of it all were it not for you standing there looking at him with open concern.

“Steve? You sure you’re good? Kinda spacing out there,” you sat down in the stiff vinyl chair next to his bed, looking at him piercingly. 

He shook his head and managed a tight smile, “Sorry, Dr. Cho made pain meds that can withstand even my metabolism. Just a little loopy is all.”

You pressed your lips into a conciliatory smile, “Alright. If you say so.”

And that’s when he noticed the small item in your hands. It was a potted plant in full bloom.

“Oh,” you said, noticing that was looking at it with interest. “I’ve never understood giving people cut flowers when they’ll just wilt and die in a week, so here.” You held the pot out for him as he reached to take it. “It’s French lavender. Thought the smell would be soothing, and if you don’t like it, don’t worry. Wanda says she’ll accept it as a re-gift.”

Steve took a moment to smell the flowers, pinching at a bud slightly to let the aroma intensify, drinking it in and letting it soothe him and his darkest thoughts.

“There’s no way I’ll re-gift this. Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what to say,” Steve couldn’t help the way his brows pinched in genuine appreciation and love and repressed emotion even as he smiled at you.

You smiled and rolled your eyes at that, “It was only like eight bucks, so if you forget to water it and it dies, it’s no big deal.”

You took the pot from him and set it down on the small tray table with a couple vases of flowers and get-well cards already on it before settling back into the chair.

“Bucky said you were pretty reckless on this mission and that’s how you got hurt.” You were looking at the ground as you spoke, your voice low and cautious.

Steve deflected his feelings of shattered hubris and appreciation for Bucky behind a smirk, “Well, Bucky always was a bit of a harried mother hen toward me.”

“Steve, you shouldn’t take unnecessary risks,” you snapped almost without meaning to. You swallowed and collected yourself, “What I mean, is that just because you’re pretty damned strong, you’re not invincible, and you shouldn’t just keep pushing yourself over and over again until you finally break. Sooner or later you’re gonna come back from a fight with a wound that no amount of Dr. Cho’s meds will be able to fix, and I don’t think any of us want to see that day any time soon.”

Steve would have felt chastened had he not felt the way his heart was racing. He couldn’t help it, not with the way you were looking at him in that moment, looking at him with what he hoped against hope was the same love with which he looked at you.

And in a flash it was gone, your eyes tore from his face and landed on the now rapidly beeping heart rate monitor on the other side of his bed.

“I’m getting a nurse. That can’t be normal,” before he could reach out and grab your arm, you were already leaning out the door, calling for a nurse.

The nurse bustled in, checking Steve’s oxygen levels and blood pressure and other such vitals, making careful notes in his tablet all the while as you stood at the end of his bed and stared at Steve with worry. 

And that’s when it hit him. You always looked at Tony with amused irritation. That was the expression you had for him. For Bucky, you tried to be soft and unassuming. Natasha usually got exasperated admiration, and for Wanda, faintly sisterly affection. Sam earned your laughter and sarcasm, and Clint got your totally done, fed-up with it all anger as you tried and often failed to learn how to sign cuss words.

But for Steve? He’d seen them all, been given them all. He’d gotten to see every look you had to give, most of which no one else had been granted access to. You’d shared emotions with him that the others never got to see and never would. With everyone, you were closed off, but with him? You let the shutters around your head and your heart peek open, even if only slightly, even if only fleetingly.

So even as he sat there paralyzed by his own shyness at being completely and irrevocably in love and paralyzed by the cables and tubes giving away his still accelerating heart, he let himself feel something he had until now rejected. 

_He let himself dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daw, SO CHEESY! Even though this deleted scene got long, it’s really like 6 small deleted scenes when you think about it, so I won’t apologize for the length of this damn thing. Besides, I’ve plotted out the next 2 sequel fics which I’m joining into a part1/part 2 thing, and yeah. Those are probably going to be quite long. So buckle up buckaroos.
> 
> Thank yall for reading!!


	5. Even the Bravest, Part 1: In Which You Discuss the Finer Points of Tree Climbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, sweet anon, for [this prompt](https://eufeme.tumblr.com/post/173199708011/oh-man-what-about-like-a-fic-where-theyre-well)! Hope I do ya proud. 
> 
> You get a bit more than tipsy on a final hurrah before sending Steve off on a long covert mission. But even that hanging over your head can’t keep you from running off at the mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, I know it’s been [Forever since I updated](https://eufeme.tumblr.com/post/176179970166), but I am busy and also very lazy. Anywhoo, hope yall don’t completely hate me after this.....lol, flame me, bitches.
> 
>  
> 
> **Please read Even the Smallest before this.**
> 
>  
> 
> This is a 4-part? (might be more?) sequel of sorts for Even the Smallest, based on a batch of the requests I got. See my [masterlist](https://eufeme.tumblr.com/post/168753951310/even-the-smallest-masterlist) if you’re curious where I’m headed with this sequel....In short, I got inspired and found a way to weave these requests together into a fluid storyline, rather than a bunch of choppy one-shots. Yall are probably going to hate me most of the time, but it’s cool. I can take it.

See end notes for this sequel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ### Even the Bravest moved [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011908).


End file.
